


Not the End

by nofeartina



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, But they always meet each other, Depressive Thoughts, Dystopia, Each chapter is a parallel universe, It won't be a thing for the rest of the fic, M/M, Magic, Magical Tattoos, Major Character death is only in the prologue, Meet-Cute, Parallel Universes, Science Fiction, Soul Bond, aftermath of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/pseuds/nofeartina
Summary: Sometimes a connection is so powerful that it can bend the fabric of space and time.Or the parallel universe AU where Isak and Even find each other over and over again.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody. Okay, so here’s the deal. I’ve been writing so much smut lately that I need to write something smut-free. And then this happened.
> 
> So. I hope that you’ll want to read another parallel universe AU fic….? :)
> 
> Irazor betaed this, thank you so much, bb. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s too soon. It’s much too soon. He’s not done yet. They’re not done yet.

It’s easy to forget everything around him. Easy to pretend they’re not surrounded by war, by thousands of fighting men. Surrounded by death.

Nothing exists in this moment but this. But them.

Isak’s kneeling on the ground, holding on to Even while covering the holes in Even’s body as much as possible. Isak’s crying and shivering and so fucking out of hope that he almost can’t contain it.

Even’s still here, still looking at him, but his mouth is open like he can’t breathe, and his eyes are turning glassy. He’s slipping through Isak’s fingers as they’re sitting there. And for once, there’s nothing Isak can do about it.

He can feel the magic crackle under his skin, can feel it reaching out, surrounding Even. Like a caress, like it’s trying to comfort him too. But he’s too late. It pains him, but he  _ is _ .

If he’d only reached Even a few minutes earlier, he wouldn’t have been. He would still have had  _ time _ . Even would still have had enough life left in him that there would be something for Isak’s magic to cling to.

He frantically pushes even harder at the wounds trying to stop the bleeding until Even makes a hurt sound in his throat. That sound gives way to the first sob escaping Isak. He allows himself this one. But he can’t help how his lower lip is quivering, how his eyes are turning wetter. He can’t believe that this is actually happening.  

It’s too soon. It’s much too soon. He’s not done yet. They’re not done yet.

The magic crackles around them, making the air around them shimmery and hard to see through. It rises from Isak’s body, envelopes them in blue light, protects them from what’s going on around them.

Isak has never felt this out of control before. He stops trying to hold it back, lets the magic free in a way he’s never done before. He just can’t concentrate on the kind of restraint it always takes to hold it back. He’s never felt this desperate before. Every cell in his body reverberates with the man lying in his arms. Dying.

Even. Even. Even.

“This is not how it ends,” Isak mutters, voice quivering from holding back the tears.

He’s never meant anything this much before. He can feel how the magic responds to his words, eager to do his bidding. 

And then he  _ knows _ . Just like that he knows what he must do. What he can do to rectify this.

He leans in over Even, touches his forehead with his own, eyes crossing from being so close. But he can’t stop looking, can’t close his eyes when this is the last he’ll see of Even in this life.

“I swear to you. I will find you again.”

The magic swirls around them, catches on to the intent behind his words, almost all-encompassing with how it responds to how Isak is finally giving all that raw power a purpose, putting it to use.

“I will find you in every life. This is not the end for us, my love.”

He takes Even’s hand, can’t keep in the second sob that escapes him when he feels how Even squeezes back. It’s weak, but it’s there.

“Come find me, Isak. I’ll be waiting for you in every lifetime,” Even whispers in a low, raspy voice, throat filling with blood.

And Isak feels how the magic latches on to those words, makes them feel like the promise they are. He feels it working, feels the magic almost purring from the pledge that lies behind their words to each other.

The smell of ozone fills the air as the magic stretches the fabric of time and space, fulfilling their vows to each other.

Isak tilts his chin so his lips touch Even’s. He ignores the wetness he finds there, needs to be as close as possible and focuses all his energy on making the magic do as he wishes.

As Even’s last breath leaves him Isak feels it against his lips and he immediately knows that this is it. He stops holding back, lets himself succumb to the sobs and the grief. The pain.

But the magic wraps himself around him, leaves him with a warmth that he knows that, in time, he’ll be able to find comfort in.

“This is not the end,” he sobs against Even, and the magic sings the words to him over and over again.

_ Not the end. _

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This won’t be updated regularly, just when I feel like I need a break from all the smut. :)
> 
> Basically, each chapter will be a different universe (although I might return to this first one). I will try to keep the chapters short (and smut-free). 
> 
> AND YES I KNOW! Everybody and their mother have done this already, but this was where inspiration took me. And a girl gotta write what a girl gotta write… ;)
> 
> Tags will be added as I go.


	2. Elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time they see each other Even is wearing a dress, has the head of a dinosaur-costume under one arm and holding three balloons in the other. And of course, this is the day he bumps into cute-third-floor-guy. Of course, it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too soon?
> 
> Well, as a wise woman told me, this is my chill-fic so I can do what I want... ;) ;) SO here, have another chapter, my friends! :)
> 
> This was betaed by the wonderful Irazor, thank you babe! :)

Even is having a horrible day.

He slept through his alarm, didn’t have time for a shower  _ or _ breakfast, missed his tram and as a result, the first 10 minutes of his first lecture. When he had tried to sneak in, he had tripped over his untied shoelaces and had almost fallen down the stairs in the lecture hall, making everybody look at him.

And that was just the  _ start _ .

So by the time he makes it back to his apartment building, hours later, he’s completely exhausted and just ready to dive straight into bed. Ready to ignore this day ever happened in the first place.

He’s drenched, greasy hair dripping down over his forehead, as he’d been surprised by the rain that had followed him home from the tram. And honestly. He’s just reached a point now where he’s so defeated that it just makes him shrug. Because this day just seems to get worse and worse.

On top of  _ that _ , he’s so hungry. He hasn’t eaten a thing all day, and his stomach is so loud that the other people in the tram had looked at him funnily.

He’s never been so fucking grateful to live in one of the few older apartment buildings in Oslo that actually has an elevator. Suddenly, it feels like the highlight of his day, not having to walk up the stairs to the fourth floor. 

So when he gets in he just slumps against the back and takes a deep breath.

Just as the doors are closing he hears someone yell, “Hold the door!” and he wishes he had the energy to do anything about it, but he doesn’t. He just keeps standing there, pretending that he didn’t hear the other person running to catch the elevator. Unfortunately, the other person sticks their arm through the doors just as they’re closing, making them open and Even sighs in annoyance and embarrassment when a guy steps into the elevator, looking at him angrily.

“Thanks for the help, dude,” he says, clearly judging Even.

Even is barely looking at him, finding his shoes much more interesting, just too tired to deal with any kind of confrontation. He doesn’t answer the guy, and he hears him huff in annoyance.

They stand there in the most awkward of silences as the elevator slowly ascends and it’s not until it stops on the third floor that Even looks up to see the guy leave. His attention is immediately caught on his figure, on the blond curls sticking out of the snapback the guy is wearing.

And all of a sudden Even feels sad that he didn’t get to look more closely at the guy. He seems like he might be worth looking at, no matter how tired Even is right now.

But the feeling is over the minute he opens the door to his apartment and dives headfirst into the bed without even taking his shoes and jacket off.

Priorities.

\--||--

This time Even is drunk.

He’s been out with the guys all day in the park, just playing games and drinking beer. And it’s been so easy and exactly what he had needed after his recent breakup. And the day had turned into a night at a bar and he’s in such a good mood from laughing and from trying to drink Elias under the table (bad idea, Elias is so much more used to alcohol than him).

He’s sunburned, can feel how his cheeks and nose are too warm, and generally, he feels like he’s on top of the world.

He stumbles in and leans heavily on the wall next to the elevator while he waits for it to reach the floor level. He’s having trouble standing still, the alcohol making his movements unsteady, even though he’s supposedly not moving.

It takes him longer than it should to notice that he’s not alone.

He almost startles (almost!) when he notices the guy with the blond hair standing next to him. He’s looking back at him with one raised eyebrow and a smirk on his lips like he thinks Even is being unintentionally funny. But Even just smiles back, couldn’t even stop himself if he wanted to.

“Heeeeey,” he starts, just stops himself from continuing with something embarrassing like  _ pretty boy _ or  _ snapback guy _ .

“Oh, so you’re more polite drunk than sober?” is what he says back and Even doesn’t quite follow, has to think about it for a few long seconds before it dawns on him.

He snorts and does this hand-gesture that he hopes conveys that that was last week and he’s a completely different person now. He’s not sure how well he succeeds though, but he’s pleased to see the guy’s smile widen.

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you?” he says with a laugh in his voice that Even wants him to set free, but before he can say anything back, the elevator doors open.

They settle in, taking turns to press their respective buttons and Even turns so he can look at the guy. Which is the best decision he’s ever made. The guy’s beautiful standing there in a wide-neck t-shirt that shows off his collarbones and his long neck, and Even can hardly breathe once his eyes find the guys lips and he can’t look away from them.

“You’re pretty,” Even says and is suddenly glad that he’s slightly sunburned so the inevitable flush that he feels from those words stays hidden.

It makes the guy laugh, though. And  _ oh _ . That laugh. Even could listen to that and nothing else all day. It’s beautiful. Just like the rest of him.

Even doesn’t quite know how long he spends spacing out just staring, because before he knows it the elevator doors are opening again and the guy salutes him before he leaves.

And Even can’t quite decide if it’s a good or a bad thing that the ride is already over. He’s not sure that sober-him would have appreciated it to be any longer than it was, with how lose his tongue tends to get when he’s drunk. But drunk-Even would have loved to have kept looking, that’s for sure.

\--||--

The next time they see each other Even is wearing a dress, has the head of a dinosaur-costume under one arm and holding three balloons in the other. And of course, this is the day he bumps into cute-third-floor-guy. Of course, it is.

Even stops next to him, looks up to see how far the elevator is in its descent and doesn’t say anything. He can feel the guy looking at him, though, can feel how he’s gearing up to ask the inevitable question, so Even just cuts him to it and says, “Don’t ask.”

And the guy snorts and holds out his hands, but he doesn’t stop looking at Even.

“I really, really want to ask,” he says after a few long seconds and his voice sounds so full of mirth that Even turns to look at him.

And the sight he’s met with feels like a punch to his stomach. Jesus Christ, this guy is pretty. Even’s memory doesn’t do him justice. His eyes are so green and his lashes so long and he’s almost as tall as Even, and Even really likes that. He doesn’t look at Even in that sleazy way that so many people do, he just looks amused and Even has to answer.

“I lost a bet.”

“You lost a bet?” he laughs, eyes sliding down and then up Even, and he doesn’t stop laughing. Even is completely gone on those two dimples he has on each side of that mouth. Jesus Christ, that  _ mouth _ . He desperately wants to touch them with his fingers, and just manages to keep his hands to himself.

“Yeah.”

He’s thankfully interrupted by the elevator opening its doors and he hurries inside. He really needs to get away from this guy while he’s looking like this. He would be so much more suave if he was in his normal clothes.

Once more he can feel the guy looking at him and he turns and can’t help but smile at how his eyes linger on him.

“What kind of bet?” the guy asks.

“Don’t ask,” Even is quick to reply and it makes the guy snort once more.

Even is literally saved by the bell as the doors open to the third floor. The guy keeps looking at him as he leaves the elevator and Even can’t help but feel he’s made some kind of progress as the door closes behind him.

\--||--

“Am I still not allowed to ask?” the guy says as he stands next to Even by the elevator and Even can’t help but smile happily.

“I’m not wearing a dress, so this time you are.” Even chuckles and loves how the guy smiles back at him. “I’m just borrowing these for a project.” Even lifts his arms with the two tripods and the other photo equipment he’s holding.

“Sure,” the guy says with this telling half-smile that makes Even laugh out loud. Jesus Christ, he doesn’t even know this guy’s name and he’s pretty sure he already wants to marry him.

“I’m Even, by the way. In case you were wondering about that as well.” Because he’s smooth like that.

The guy turns towards him and smiles back. “I’m Isak.”

Isak. Yeah. It fits.

Isak opens his mouth as if he wants to say something else, but just then Even’s neighbor Ingrid comes in and interrupts them and Even wants to hit something. Sometimes he really hates his neighbors. Isak was finally talking to him. But he slaps on a smile because this is Ingrid who’s always so nice to him.

She ends up talking all through the ride, talks through Isak leaving the elevator and Even sends him a longing look as the doors close behind him.

Goddammit. Will he ever get to talk to this guy for real? At least he knows his name now.

Isak.  _ Isak _ .

He waits until he’s finally managed to get rid of Ingrid, until he’s alone in his apartment before he says the name out loud for the first time. Tasting it on his tongue, noticing how it fits in his mouth.

Isak.

It just rolls off the tongue. Like he’s been waiting to say it.

He has to find a way to talk to him, he  _ has _ to.

\--||--

So this isn’t how he planned for it to happen.

But honestly, he’s getting so desperate that he’ll take almost anything by now. But why oh why, do they only meet when Even isn’t his cool self? Instead of now, when Even can barely walk, with bloody knees and his hip shooting daggers through him every time he takes a step.

Once again, he’s so, so grateful for that elevator. Right until Isak comes through the front door and stops as soon as he looks at Even.

“What happened to you?” he says with wide eyes and Even is pretty sure that’s worry he sees edged into his face.

He takes a deep breath, tries to get rid of the tension stemming from Isak seeing him like this, but it makes him wince in pain instead.

“Are you okay?” Isak asks again and steps closer to Even.

“No,” Even sighs and shuffles his leg trying to find a more comfortable angle for it. “I fell on my bike.”

Quite spectacularly it would seem. His knees are scraped and his wrist hurts and he’s sore  _ everywhere _ .

“Oh no,” Isak says and takes yet another step towards him. “Can I do something?”

And Even swallows down the immediate  _ no _ that wants to escape him, because hurt or not, this is his chance.

“Do you by any chance have some band-aids? I’m all out,” Even says and tries to pretend he’s not actually a bad liar.

He’s not quite successful, though. Isak’s lips lift on one side like he  _ knows _ , but Even feels like he can breathe again when Isak replies.

“Yeah, I have a first-aid kit somewhere.” He looks at Even, pauses for a second before he continues. “I guess you can borrow a couple.”

And fuck yeah. Finally.

So Even leaves the elevator with Isak this time, follows him into his apartment, which he pretends he doesn’t check out quite as much as he does. Sits down by the table as Isak instructs him to and waits as Isak goes through the cabinets in the bathroom. It takes a while with what sounds like a lot of rummaging before Isak finally joins him with a handful of band-aids.

He looks victorious and Even can’t believe how cute this guy is.  _ Isak _ is.

Even is tongue-tied as Isak takes one of the chairs and sets it right in front of Even. He sits down in it, looks at Even’s knees concerned.

“To be honest. I don’t really know what to do with this,” he finally says and it makes Even huff out a laugh despite his pain.

“Really? You’re not a doctor?” Even asks, can’t help himself.

It makes Isak smile as well. “Well no. Not yet. And not that kind of doctor, anyway.”

And Even is so goddamn curious, he wants to know everything. But Isak beats him to it.

“You know, I’ve been trying to guess what you do for a living, but you’re making it really hard for me.”

Even leans back in the chair, can’t help the smirk that breaks out over his face.

“You’ve been thinking about me, Isak?”

Isak shrugs and then rolls his eyes when Even’s smirk turns into a full-on beam. Even really wants to kiss this guy. Badly. Is desperate to know what his lips taste like. Especially when Isak slowly starts to smile as well. 

“Maybe a little bit.”

And his eyes linger on Even’s as he says this and Even can’t stop looking back. Because there are so many things that Isak is saying with his eyes, so many questions he’s asking, even though he just answered so many of Even’s. So Even does the only thing he can do.

“Good. Because I’ve been thinking about you too.”

As soon as those words are out, the world seems to settle around them. Settle something inside of Even. He sees Isak’s smile turn a bit bashful and it makes Even’s heart beat that bit faster. 

He’s surprised by how right this feels. Like it’s the start of something that will change him forever.

And he’s so ready for it.  

 

 

 


	3. There you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s bittersweet finally finding him in this reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... this is just pouring out of me. I hope you guys don't mind too much... ;)
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful Irazor. <3

It’s bittersweet finally finding him in this reality.

There’s the elation of seeing Even, of knowing that he’s not just a figment of Isak’s imagination. Because Isak has spent his life dreaming of him, has spent hours and hours wondering if he was going crazy when he felt like there was a piece of him missing, just waiting around the corner for him.

But at the same time, there’s the memory of how big the loss was. How painful every day without him was.  _ After _ . The knowledge that in the end, one of them is going to feel that loss again.

Although Isak doesn’t love him yet, not really, even if it feels like he’s been waiting all his life for him, he already knows what it’s like to love him.

And what it’s like to lose him.

Isak looks at him from across the room, studies the delicate curve of his jaw and his eyebrow. The familiarity of the slope of his shoulders and his nose.

Isak remembers it all.

Remembers their first kiss, how perfectly their lips had fit against each other. Remembers their last kiss, how wet with blood Even’s lips had been.

Remembers all the kisses in between, some fast and domestic, other heated and lingering.

He remembers the constellation of moles Even has on his lower back, the story behind that scar on his chin.

He remembers how he had looked as life had left him. How he looked as the color had drained from his face. When his eyes had turned glassy and all that was left was the shell of his body.

He’s waiting for Even to look back at him, waiting impatiently. But he doesn’t go to him. He just watches Even slowly walk through the room, wondering if he remembers too.

And then Even turns around, like he knew where Isak was, like he had been waiting too, and looks straight at Isak.

He smiles. One of those big smiles, where his mouth stretches impossibly wide and his eyes turn into small cracks. And he looks so happy to see Isak.

Isak wants to touch that smile, wants to feel how real Even is underneath it. Because with just that smile Even has said it all. It’s so clear that he remembers Isak too. Maybe not quite as much as Isak remembers, but he at least looks at Isak like he can’t believe that he’s there. 

It always was the biggest difference between them; Isak could never greet new things with a smile the way Even could.

But he doesn’t want to think about that right now. He wants to look until his eyes hurt, he wants to touch. He wants to feel the warmth of Even’s skin against his lips because the coolness from the last time he touched them still stands out in his memory.

He can’t get enough of looking, though. It’s like his mind didn’t do Even justice. The memory can’t compare to the real thing. Somehow there is more color to him, his hair is a bit shinier and his eyes brighter. He’s  _ beautiful _ . Isak can’t imagine he’ll ever grow tired of looking at Even being so alive.  

He wants to make himself forget, so he can focus on this. Wants to forget the fact that although they’re just on the verge of starting again, he already knows that this time will end too. There’s always a limit to the time they get together. 

“Hey,” is the first thing Even says to him in this reality. “Where have you been all of my life?”

And it’s cheesy, so cheesy, should be too much. But it’s not, this time it’s just right. It finally makes Isak smile as well.

The sound of his voice washes over Isak, takes some of his insecurities and doubts with it. Like he knows there’s no need for that right now. There will be time to grieve again later.

Now is for love, for  _ being  _ in love.

So Isak does the only thing he can. He answers.

“Right here.”

And everything quiets down around them until there is nothing else but them. In this moment it’s easy to forget what has happened. And what will happen. 

Isak lets himself focus on this. On Even. On how they’re about to start all over again. And he lets himself feel it. How grateful he is for it, how happy he is to have Even back.

He lets himself feel what he’s been waiting to feel for his entire life.

Love.  

 

 

 


	4. Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re not allowed to do that, wizard,” he says in a loud voice and Isak scoffs at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... these interludes will take us back to the first verse. I know so many of you were curious about it (and so was I) and I wasn't quite ready to let go of it. :)
> 
> This is betaed by the wonderful Irazor. <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy, my friends! :)

”Stay still,” Isak says, his voice unkind from stress, but the boy just pulls his arm back like he’s scared.

And Isak hates that so much.

“What are you going to do?” the boy asks and Isak doesn’t have time for his hesitation.

“You’re hurt,” he says and pulls his arm back towards him. “I’m going to fix you.” And as he says that he holds his hand over the gushing wound on the boy’s arm, all bloody and dirty. It’ll surely catch an infection looking like it does, but Isak can fix it. If the boy will just let him.

He stays, but he looks at Isak frightened, eyes big and mouth twisted in an unhappy frown.

As the magic slowly starts to catch on, filling the space between Isak’s hand and the boy’s arm with a bluish glow, he tries to pull his arm back again.

“You’re not allowed to do that, wizard,” he says in a loud voice and Isak scoffs at him.

“Do you want to die? Because that wound will surely get infected..”

And he finally allows himself to look into the boy’s eyes, lets himself feel the itch, the inexplicable pull he feels towards him. He’s tried to ignore it, has tried to rein it in, but it’s been there behind his ribs since he first laid eyes on him.

His heart had soared as he did and Isak knew. His magic kept singing under his skin that this is it. This is the boy. But the boy hadn’t even spared him a second glance. Had looked away as soon as Isak approached him.

And he still does, even now with the threat of death surrounding him, he’s still too scared of Isak to really look.

Isak clenches his jaw from how that hurts, tries to ignore it, ignore how being this close to the boy makes his heart beat faster and his magic hum under his skin. Like it’s trying to tell him something.

But now, finally, the boy looks. Isak feels those blue, intense eyes roam his face and he must find what he’s searching for because after a few long seconds he finally nods. It’s small, almost unnoticeable, but Isak is so attuned to him already that he feels it in his entire body. That nod. Like he’s saying yes to other things as well.

Isak doesn’t even make a conscious decision to do so, his magic just takes over. Lights up the space between them once again and it only takes a little effort for Isak to heal the gash.

After, the boy looks at his arm, unblemished, pain-free, like the wound was never even there in the first place. He looks at it amazed. And then he turns his eyes on Isak and looks at him in the same way.

“You didn’t have to do that. If somebody finds out you’ll burn from it,” he says in a low voice, shaken and afraid, but this time it’s not because he’s afraid of Isak. It’s because he’s afraid  _ for  _ him and that makes the magic hum under Isak’s skin again.

“I know,” Isak says, trying to keep the magic down, trying not to let it influence him more than it needs to.

It’s still something that gives him pause. Something that always makes him wonder and shy away from people. How much the magic influences how they see him.

He can never be sure if they actually like him or if the magic makes them think they do.

“I didn’t even know anybody could do that anymore,” the boy says and this time his voice sounds full of awe and when Isak looks at him again, his eyes are big and wide with curiosity and wonder. He’s not afraid anymore.

“Well. It’s not really something I go around showing people, is it?” he says and tries not to sound too bitter.

It’s been a while since he let himself cure anybody, even though it’s always been the easiest magic for him to perform.

Nowadays it’s all war and pain and about how many injuries he can afflict. When all he wants to do is heal. But nobody seems to want to let him do that.

The boy keeps looking at him, seconds going by with that look pinning Isak into place. He wants to know what’s going on in his mind, wants to know if he made a mistake by showing him. Whether he’s going to tell. But Isak has to trust his magic, can’t help but put his trust in the boy when he makes it sing in such a way. He feels important. The magic recognizes him.

Finally, a small smile breaks out over his face. “I’m Even,” he says and holds out his hand for Isak to shake. The same arm that Isak just fixed for him.

“Isak,” he answers back and hesitantly takes Even’s hand.

As they touch the magic swirls around them, makes him warm from the inside out and the way Even sighs lets Isak know that he feels it too.

He can see Even mouth his name silently like he’s tasting it on his tongue, and then he smiles.

And Isak could look at that smile for all of eternity. He’s never seen anything as perfect as this boy. As  _ Even _ .

“Don’t worry. I’ll never tell anybody,” he says and it makes Isak smile back.

It’s hard letting go of Even’s hand. And the second he does he just wants to go back to touching him again. The aborted move Even makes with his hand before he fists it tells Isak that he feels the same.

Yeah. There’s definitely something about this boy.

He can’t wait to figure out just what.  

 


	5. Strawberry Swings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room turns silent. No sounds but their breathing and the roar in Even’s head which is a mess of feelings (a battle of two voices, one going – _he’s leaving, he’s leaving _, the other going – _Isak will live _).____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I’ve never written anything like this before, but I’ve always wanted to try my hand at the dystopian pre-apocalyptic trope. So this is my take on it! :)
> 
> BUT. Fair warning: this is angsty af. If you’re not into that, or you don’t think you can handle it, step away now. Nobody dies and it’s not non con, I can tell you that much, but if you’re still not sure you can always message me on [tumblr](https://nofeartina.tumblr.com/) and I’ll answer your concern. <3
> 
> This is betaed by the amazing Irazor who cried when she read this (and then proceeded to shout at me about it… <3 <3).

**Day -6:**

”I got the letter today,” is the first thing Isak says as he steps over the threshold of their apartment, but he doesn’t look as happy about it as Even would expect him to.

And that tells Even everything he needs to know.

He plasters on a smile anyway, puts his arms around Isak and hugs him. Pretends he can’t feel how rigid Isak is under him or how his own smile feels fake and uncomfortable on his face. 

He tries to blink away the tears threatening to spill, fights the urge to tighten his arms around Isak to just keep him there. Keep him with him. But it doesn’t matter how selfish he’s been in the past. He just can’t do that.

“That’s such good news,” he says as he pulls back, but keeps his hands on Isak. Can’t imagine how he’s supposed to stop touching now.

“Even…” Isak whispers and his eyes are brimming with tears, chin wobbling and Even can’t look at him.

“Of course you got a letter, babe. You’re a goddamn genius. How will they survive without people like you there?” Even says, lets go of Isak (even though his fingers are tingling, even though everything in him screams to go back, to touch and touch and touch) and looks away.

He can’t bear to see Isak’s tears, not right now. Not when there is so much for Even to cry for, so much to be happy about.

Isak will live.

That’s the most important thing. That’s all that matters. Isak will live.

“Even…” Isak says again and puts out his arms like he wants to touch Even, but Even takes a step away from him. Can hardly hear him over the roar of blood in his ears, the way the walls are closing in on him. On them. How there’s now an expiration date on  _ them _ .

Even’s skin feels too small for his body, he tries to keep smiling, tries to blink away the tears that are now starting to fall down his cheeks (against his will – he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want Isak to see his pain. Even’s sure Isak has enough of his own, there’s no need for him to add to it) and he turns away from Isak to wipe them away, quickly and hopefully unnoticed.

He stops when he feels a hand on his shoulder, though. Steady, gentle, assuring. Just like Isak, just like everything he’s ever been. Ever will be.

“I’m sure there’s been a mistake,” Isak starts. “I’m sure you’ll get yours soon…” he continues but is interrupted by Even.

“When are you leaving?”

And the room turns silent. No sounds but their breathing and the roar in Even’s head which is a mess of feelings (a battle of two voices, one going –  _ he’s leaving, he’s leaving,  _ the other going –  _ Isak will live _ ). It’s not until he turns around to look at Isak that they quiet down.

As his eyes scan Isak’s face, look at his wide eyes and the pain in them, only one voice wins out. Even’s always been selfish, has never been able to protect Isak against him, even when he should, but he can’t be selfish about this. Isak deserves so much more.

“In a week,” Isak whispers with a small voice, deep with regret and misery, and Even swallows down everything threatening to pour out of him (swallows down the petty words that would keep Isak there – he knows he holds the power to do that) and goes to Isak and puts his arms back around him.

“I’ll talk to some people, I’ll see what I can do. I can’t go without you, Even. I can’t…” As Isak dissolves into tears in Even’s arms, Even straightens his back and keeps his eyes on a fixed spot on the wall behind Isak.

This is not the time for him to be weak. He’ll have to do his best to make sure that Isak gets on that ship. If it’s the last thing he does.

Isak will live.

 

**Day -4:**

They’ve known for a while. Despite this, it’s been easy to ignore it. Sometimes Even thinks that this is one of man’s greatest accomplishments. How they know things are turning to shit, but just manage to go on, continuing their lives and ignoring all the signs along the way.

For all of their lives, they’ve known that it was going to end at some point.

Maybe if someone had done something 20-30-50 years ago, maybe then things would be different.

Nobody did. So they aren’t.

He’s with Isak now, standing next to the playground where they spend so many long, lazy, warm days as kids. Before they really knew what the words  _ the world is ending _ meant. Before they cared.

Back then it was just them and their bikes and the sun that always seemed to be there, painting their days in warmth and a freedom he hasn’t felt ever since.

They’re both looking at the swings. Their swings. If he looks carefully he can still see the strawberries they hand painted with some of Even’s colors on them. Isak’s neat and realistic on one swing, and Even’s too large and abstract on the other.

Nobody uses the swings anymore, the playground has been abandoned for ages.

Kids don’t really play outside, not now when the sun isn’t just warm anymore. When most vegetation has been scorched and most people only venture out dressed appropriately and on their way somewhere else with a roof.

But Isak had wanted to come. And where Isak goes, Even goes.

Even pretends not to know what this is (pretends not to see how Isak is saying farewell to these places that mean something, pretends not to see his tears as he does).

Even owes him that much.

 

**Day -2:**

Even comes home to their apartment, which is darker than usual. He’s sweating through his t-shirt, feels miserable and sore and annoyed with how it’s getting harder to breathe now.

He wants Isak to get away from this (he wants him to stay, he desperately wants him here with him to the end) because it’s clear that Isak is more affected by the sod in the air than him.

As soon as he closes the door behind him, he hears something. It makes him stop and slow down. And there it is again, the sound that made him pause. The sound that will always make him pause.

Isak is crying.

Even drops what he has in his hands, doesn’t care where his bag and his water bottle lands, just needs to go to Isak.

The sight of him sitting there on their couch, slumped over, face buried in his hands almost kills him. He looks so defeated. And Even knows he’s just realized what Even’s known all along.

“It’s alright,” he says as he kneels in front of Isak, puts one hand on his shoulder and the other in his hair. He wants to take him in his arms, wants to comfort him but he knows there’s nothing he can do to soothe this particular pain.

“Even. I’ve done what I can, I’ve talked to so many people, I’ve threatened not to go,” Isak starts, hiccupping the words out and Even just shushes him.

“I know,” he whispers and puts his cheek on top of Isak’s hair (breathes him in, tries to memorize the scent of him, the essence that is Isak. He hopes that if he tries hard enough he might be able to remember it till the end).

Isak finally looks at him and his red, wet eyes and cheeks steal Even’s breath away. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about how pretty Isak looks like this, but he can’t help it.

Isak is always beautiful, even now. Especially now.

“Even..?” Isak says in this broken voice that splits open Even’s chest, makes his heart bleed.

“I’ve always known, baby,” he whispers and looks and looks at Isak, wanting him to see it for himself. Wants him to understand how much he means it. “There was never any way I was going to get that letter. I’m sick. And I’m nothing compared to you.”

The first tear falls down his face as he says it and this time he doesn’t wipe it away (lets Isak see it, lets him understand just how much Even is hurting too).

Isak sighs shakingly, leans his forehead against Even’s and puts his hands in Even’s hair.

“I won’t go if you don’t want me to. Just say the words and I’ll stay.”

Even stays quiet.

 

**Day 0:**

There are people everywhere. The noises here are deafening, from the ships leaving port, flying upwards with a deafening roar towards their new homes.

And then there are them.

Isak and Even.

Quiet.

They’re standing opposite each other. Even is looking, eyes flitting over Isak’s face, trying to take it all in (clinging to his memory even though he’s still standing here). He doesn’t know how to say goodbye. He’s never had to say goodbye like this before. It’s never been this… final.

Isak is crying, silent tears overflowing, leaving a clean path down his grubby cheeks.

Even is… not. He’s shaking, though. His entire body shutting down, numbing itself in defense. He wants to say so much, he wants to tell Isak all the things he’s already told him over and over again these last few days (I love you, I love you, I will always love you), but his mouth isn’t working. Nothing in him is working.

So he stays. Stays and looks and hopes that Isak knows enough that it doesn’t matter.

In the end, it’s Isak who steps into him, who takes him in his strong arms and whispers into his ear.

“I won’t say goodbye, this isn’t goodbye. I know it.”

Even closes his eyes and the first tear escapes him. He’s almost surprised by it, surprised to find his body still working.

When he finally talks his voice is so low he’s not sure that Isak can hear him. But he can’t speak any louder than this.

“I’ll miss you,” is what he says and there are so many other things he could say (I’ve loved you, I’ve always loved you and I’ll never stop) but these are his last words to Isak.

Isak pulls back and looks at him. As his eyes meet Even’s he sobs, just one time and Even can see how hard he’s fighting to hold back.

“This isn’t goodbye, okay?” he repeats and although Even doesn’t believe him he nods.

Isak looks at him, eyes sliding over his face and it feels like a physical caress. It makes Even shiver with desperation. But he stays still. Isak’s eyes are dull but intense as he looks at Even one final time and Even knows what he’s saying (ask me to stay, ask me to stay) but Even can’t.

He’ll give Isak whatever he needs. He’ll make sure that Isak survives, no matter how much Even wants to keep him here. Keep him forever.

Once again Even stays quiet. Bites his tongue as he watches Isak turn around and walk over to the first security check.

Isak turns around just before he disappears into the building. Stays there for a few long seconds looking at Even, waiting for him to say something.

Even bites his tongue until he tastes blood, clenches his fists so hard it hurts.

But he stays quiet.

\--||--

The sky isn’t even really blue anymore. Or gray. He’s read descriptions of how it used to look, has seen it in the movies. It’s nothing like that anymore.

It’s a color that’s hard to describe and hard to look at. The sun is burning so bright now that he can feel how he needs to get away from it soon.

But he stays. Much longer than he should. Stays as he sees the ship start its engine, until it slowly leaves the ground and hovers there. He pretends he can see Isak through one of the small windows and lifts his hand in goodbye as the engines burst with energy and sound and Isak is hurling into space faster than Even can understand.

He stays there until his eyes burn from the sun, until he’s afraid he might go blind if he keeps looking into the swirl of the sky.

And then he lowers his hand.

Nothing will ever be the same again. Nothing.

“Goodbye, Isak,” he whispers into the rapidly expanding space between them.

He  _ knows _ , even though Isak couldn’t face it. He understands that he won’t see him again.

He never was as hopeful as Isak.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I’m sorry. I made myself cry writing this if it’s any comfort… <3)


	6. Dance to the sound of your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Isak notices it’s like his world stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, I'm so sorry this chapter has taken so long. But I hope you guys think it was worth the wait. :)
> 
> The lovely Irazor betaed this, thank you, babe! And I hope you guys enjoy this one. :)

When Isak notices it’s like his world stops. 

It’s the new guy, just there for the fun of it because the girls thought he was pretty. And maybe Isak had noticed him too, walking the hallways, always smiling when talking to people. Maybe Isak has looked a bit too closely on the stretch of that mouth, the size of his hands, the length of his body.

Maybe.

But Isak’s never noticed this before. When the guy reaches across the table for another beer, Isak sees it, sees the tattoo peeking out from underneath the edge of his sleeve. 

There's no mistaking it. Nobody else has that kind of tattoos. 

And Isak feels how his own are responding, moving around on his body to realign. To adjust to this new development. Of being so close to someone like him.  

Isak finds himself staring. Feels how, even though his body is frozen, he's still leaning forward a bit, already gravitating towards the guy. 

But then the guy seems to notice too, pulls his arm back quickly and adjusts his sleeve, like he wants to hide it. Like it's something to hide. His eyes nervously search their group to see if anybody saw his indiscretion. And Isak knows he should look away, knows he should give this guy the reprieve of thinking nobody did. 

But Isak doesn’t. 

His own days of hiding are over and he’s at a point where he fucking hates how some people still think it's something to be ashamed of. So he doesn't stop staring. Makes sure that when the guy’s eyes land on him, he can see that Isak's looking. That he saw. 

The guy widens his eyes in surprise but he doesn't back down. Keeps Isak's gaze, even tilts his head after a while, which turns the stare into a challenge. Forces a small smile out of Isak that he tries to fight. 

There’s something about this guy. Nevermind the fact that he’s one of his kind, Isak meets people like himself often enough that it doesn’t really throw him anymore. But this guy… he makes Isak pause. 

That never happens.

The way his magic responds to him, the way the tattoos slide over his skin, it feels different. They’re being careful for once, every move feels like a caress, and he’s barely able to suppress the responding shivers.

Fuck.

If it’s like this from just a look, he wonders what it’s like if the guy was to touch him.

He almost feels the cat on his chest purring with the idea.

Isak feels buzzed for the rest of the night. A constant high no alcohol or drugs could ever induce. 

He remembers how he as a kid wouldn’t admit to having magic, how he tried to suppress it and keep it locked deep inside. To never show anybody that he was different. 

But magic doesn’t work like that.

He had come dangerously close to combusting, close to ruining himself and everybody around him before the elders had taken him in and taught him their ways. Showed him not to be afraid and ashamed, given him his first tattoos to help keep all the power in him manageable. 

It didn’t take long for him to get more. 

He’s not able to see how many this guy has or what kind of tattoos they are. But he knows that he wants to know.

\--||--

The cat on Isak’s chest starts purring, starts sliding over his skin towards the edge of his t-shirt until its head is peeking out. He rubs at it, distracted by the words in the book he’s reading, until the purring is so loud that he can’t focus anymore.

He knows that the other people in the library can’t hear it, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting it to quiet down. 

He looks up, suddenly, like his eyes knew where to look, to find the new guy looking right at him. Isak almost expects him to flush and divert his eyes, so readily caught staring, but the boy does nothing of the sort.

Instead he just smiles, moves closer like the fact that Isak looked at him was an invitation.

He sits down opposite Isak, leans back in his chair and looks so comfortable and at ease that Isak almost feels like he’s the one intruding on him.

Isak clears his throat, fiddles with the corner of the page he’s reading but holds the boy’s gaze.

“Cool cat,” the boy says and the sound of his voice makes the cat purr louder, like it enjoys getting compliments.

Isak wishes he could tell it to cool down, but this cat has always had a mind of its own.

Isak nods, doesn’t answer though. Waits until the guy says what he came here to say.

“I’m Even, by the way. I don’t think we were introduced the other night.”

They weren’t, and Isak doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s spent some time wondering what his name was. If it fitted the rest of him, fitted his tattoos that Isak has spent some time wondering about too.

“I’m Isak.”

Even smiles, raises his eyebrows in a way that almost looks like he’s flirting. “Oh, I know.”

Isak hates it, he really does, but he flushes. He’s not used to being looked at like that, and Even just does it so freely, like it’s that easy.

“What can I do for you, Even?” Isak asks, tries to ignore the heat on his cheeks, hopes that Even hasn’t noticed. 

The question makes Even turn serious again. He barely looks at Isak as he talks. “I’ve heard you’re good with healing spells?”

Isak frowns, but nods. It’s what he does best, and this isn’t the first time he’s been asked to heal someone.

“I’m not sure if you can help me, or if there’s even anything to do about it. They’ve told me it’ll get better with time, but I’m so tired of waiting. I want to see if there’s anything else to do.” He looks up at Isak, says the last words as he holds his gaze. “I want to see if your magic can help me.”

Isak shifts in his seat, has heard this kind of thing enough times to know that he’s probably going to disappoint Even. “You know that magic can’t cure everything, right?” he asks, has to make sure that Even understands before they’re even trying.

Even nods, bites his lip, and Isak feels his entire body heating up at the sight.

“Can we meet somewhere? More… private?” Even says, looks hesitant and nervous. “So I can show you?”

Isak is curious enough (and interested enough in Even) that he doesn’t say no.

So before Even leaves him with a happy wave and a nod, they’ve made plans to meet up at Even’s place later.

Isak wishes it didn’t make all the tattoos on his body move around like they’re celebrating.

\--||--

They’re in Even’s room, littered with posters and clothes and sketches that Isak could spend hours looking at, but instead, he’s sitting in front of a very nervous Even in the process of pulling his shirt off.

Isak wants to object, wants to tell Even that it’s too much, that he shouldn’t get that naked in front of Isak, not when Isak is thinking all sorts of things about Even. But as soon as the shirt is off and Even stands there in front of him, he quiets.

His magic buzzes under his skin in a way it hasn’t done in a very long time, before he got his first tattoos. His entire body is filling with warmth and the desire, the need, to get closer. But his eyes are tracing the tattoos on Even’s upper body, observe how dull they look, how they’re not moving.

“What kind of tattoos are these?” Isak asks and reaches out to touch even before he’s thought it through. He manages to stop himself before he does, though. Touching Even’s tattoos feels like a line he shouldn’t be crossing. No matter how his own tattoos are acting.

“Can you help make them come alive again?” Even asks, ignoring Isak’s question.

Isak can’t look away from them, the intricate patterns running up Even’s arm, around his shoulder, circling his nipple. They’re so different from his own, so different from what he’s seen before.

“Why are they like this?” he asks, but he’s not sure he wants to know the answer when he sees the way Even’s face falls.

“I’ve been... sick,” Even says, looks away from Isak and his whole body sort of collapses on itself, like he’s trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable. “I used too much energy too fast. And it drained them.”

Isak’s never seen anything like it before. He’s heard that something like this could happen, a wayward sentence in a book somewhere, but he’s never  _ seen  _ it. 

He looks at Even, finally catches his eyes, before he says, “I don’t know. But I’d like to try.”

And Even smiles a small, hesitant smile, like he doesn’t really think it will work anyway, but it makes Isak want to try even more.

He pushes up his sleeves, revealing his arms and the tattoos there. He knows that they make quite a sight, especially from the way they move right now, down towards his hands. Almost like they’re drawn to Even.

He reaches for Even and Even pulls back for a short second before he relaxes and puts his hand out for Isak to touch.

Isak almost stops breathing as his fingers get closer and closer to Even’s hand. There’s so much electricity in the air that it’s almost palpable.

Even’s eyes flit between Isak’s hand inching closer and Isak’s eyes. The way they linger almost feels physical and it’s not helping Isak’s breathing one bit.

The second the tip of Isak’s forefinger touches the skin on Even’s hand, it’s like an explosion.

Even’s tattoos on his hand and arm pulse, colors streaming from the small area Isak is touching, making wheels turn and lines slide against each other. The longer Isak touches, the further up Even’s arm it goes, more and more tattoos coming alive, moving in bright colors, almost bright enough to hurt Isak’s eyes. 

There’s so much buzzing in his body, his own tattoos are all vibrating and he can feel the energy flowing from him into Even.

But it’s not bad, it doesn’t feel draining. And as more and more of Even’s tattoos come alive he feels how they start to give back. How they respond to him too.

He notices his cat walking along the crease of his elbow, down the slope of his arm, rub against his fingers in that way it does when it wants him to touch it, before it continues and Isak could swear that it’s like it’s trying to move over to Even.

Before it can, Isak lets go of Even, pulls his hand away fast, and he’s almost dizzy standing there, still vibrating, out of breath, sweating. The cat looks disappointed, sits down and stares at him with its tail moving behind it. 

And then Isak looks at Even.

Even is staring at him with wide eyes, parted lips, chest rising and falling rhythmically as he tries to catch his breath. 

It’s a good look on him. He looks like he's spent a long while being kissed, like someone showed him a good time and Isak can’t look away. It’s too tempting a sight.

Even’s voice is breathless and raspy as he finally talks. 

“Do that again,” he says and reaches for Isak.

So Isak does.

The second time he touches Even it’s almost enough to take his breath away. The way Even’s magic are starting to come alive, are slowly starting to move over Even’s skin too, expanding from Even into Isak to interact with Isak’s magic. It makes Isak’s heart beat faster and his skin feel tight. Makes him part his lips as well and his eyes turn half-lidded.

Makes his entire body stand at attention, ready for something he doesn’t know yet.

And Even must feel it too, the way he looks at Isak’s mouth, the way his own eyes go half-lidded as well. He takes a step towards Isak, and then one more, until they’re standing close enough for their chests to touch if they leaned towards each other.

Isak puts his other hand on Even’s chest, and this time the explosion can be heard in the room. The air pulses around them, and it’s not just Isak who’s vibrating, Even is too. The magic flows over his skin, colors turning more and more bright; pinks, yellows, blues, greens, reds. Isak’s never seen anything like it. Never experienced anything like it. 

It’s spreading from where Isak’s hand is touching Even, skin almost shimmering from the change of the dull black into this mass of colors. The colors turn golden the further down they go and the second they disappear into Even’s pants, Even’s breath hitches and he closes his eyes.

Isak could laugh, so much excitement inside that there’s barely room for it in him, like it’s trying to find other ways to escape him.

He has to be closer to Even, has to feel this sensation more, so he wraps his arm around Even and pulls him in for a hug.

Oh.  _ Oh _ ! 

This is even better.

The way Even is breathing into his ear, the way he sounds as the small sighs escape him, it’s enough to set Isak on fire.

The cat quietly strolls off his hand and over onto Even’s skin, walks up the length of his arm and Isak watches it move across his shoulder until it’s out of sight. Isak can’t see it, but he knows that it’s settling on Even’s chest. He  _ feels  _ it instead.  

And he knows what this means.

So he rests his head on Even’s shoulder and lets it happen. Lets the magic work this out, whatever this is, between them. He waits to see if Even pulls back, if he’ll put an end to this process, but he doesn’t. He just keeps pulling Isak closer, arms wrapped around him tight, like it’s the only thing keeping him there.

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” Even whispers and now Isak sees how the colors are spreading out into the room as well. Moving along the floors, painting intricate designs on the walls and on the furniture. “I hoped, but I didn’t know.”

And Isak huffs out a laugh, knows exactly what Even is saying, even though he still asks, “You knew?”

Even’s lips find the place where the collar of Isak’s t-shirt ends, kisses the skin of his neck gently and then he whispers, “I hoped.”

So Isak pulls him closer, puts his own lips to Even’s neck as well, lets them linger there as he breathes in the scent of Even, learns how it feels on his skin, how they smell together.

They smell right.

Like he knew they would.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it won't take this long before I post the next one...? *nervous laughter*


	7. Interlude 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment there is so much tension between them that he’s sure that it’s his magic that makes the air crackle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from me already? What is this sorcery??? hahahha
> 
> So this just kinda happened and I hope you guys are ready to read another one already. :) This is an interlude chapter, we're back in the first verse, if you remember that. :)
> 
> Irazor betaed (<3) and without further ado, enjoy. :)

“Wizard?” a small voice asks from outside the tent, so low that Isak almost doesn’t hear it.

But his ears are so attuned to that voice that he’s sure he would be able to hear even the smallest of whispers from Even.

He opens the flap, invites him in, and for once he’s grateful for having an entire tent to himself.

Even looks nervous, folding in on himself in a way that makes him seem almost small, gingerly holding his own hand in the other as he looks around with a strained expression on his face. He’s pale and it’s evident he’s in pain in the way he carries himself. 

He’s doesn’t say anything, though.

It seems now that he’s inside, he’s used up all of his courage, and once again Isak has to take the reins.

“Is something wrong with your hand?” he asks and starts reaching for it, before he remembers himself and looks up at Even, silently asking for permission.

Even doesn’t stop him though, just keeps looking back at him with those big blue eyes that Isak dreams of every night. That he hasn’t had a chance to see up close since that day by the pond.

Until now.

“Yeah, they--“ Even interrupts himself, swallows hard and looks down at his hand before he looks up at Isak again. “I fell.”

Isak takes a step closer, already reaching out for Even’s hand, and the moment he touches it he gets that tingling feeling all over that he’s been longing for since the last time he touched him. But when he finally discovers what’s wrong he immediately forgets it.

“Who did this to you?” he asks sharply as he takes Even’s limp hand in his, notices how the bones in three of his fingers and in his wrist are all wrong. This is a very serious injury for someone in the army.

He wouldn’t be allowed to fight, wouldn’t be allowed to stay.

Isak needs to know, needs to direct this anger somewhere but Even stays quiet.

Instead, he whimpers quietly from pain as Isak tries to turn the hand over to see if there’s something he’s missed.

The whimper makes Isak more gentle, makes him hold the hand carefully, run his fingers up the length of Even’s fingers, of his delicate wrist. His magic covers the tent in a bluish glow, lightening up the small space even more than the few candles in there already does. 

He watches in fascination as Even closes his eyes, lips parting in a different kind of sigh as his magic works to mend the fractures.

Isak’s been told that it hurts, that it’s at the least uncomfortable, and people tend to shy away from him as soon as he’s done. This has been his experience with healing so far, although limited.

But when the glow of magic starts to disappear, Even lets his hand stay in Isak’s, doesn’t move. He’s breathing hard until he slowly opens his eyes.

He definitely doesn’t look like he’s in pain.

The paleness is gone, replaced by a healthy flush on his cheeks. His pupils are dilated almost to the point where it’s impossible to tell how blue his eyes normally are. 

The way he looks at Isak makes the tingling in his body start up all over again.

“Does it hurt?” Isak whispers, even though it’s evident, but he needs Even to tell him himself.

Even smiles, a small wondering smile that spreads from his face to Isak’s.

“It’s warm. No. It doesn’t hurt,” he answers in a low voice.

And Isak could stay here all night looking into Even’s eyes, he’s looking at him with that lazy, half-lidded gaze that makes Isak’s own smile widen until it’s so big his cheeks are close to hurting.

For a moment there is so much tension between them that he’s sure that it’s his magic that makes the air crackle.

But there’s no blue glow in sight.

This is all them.

“Thank you,” Even finally says, after the silence has stretched between them for so long that Isak has lost sense of time.

He nods in reply, and everything inside him screams with wrongness as Even opens the flap to leave the tent again.

Before he does, however, Isak puts a hand on Even’s arm, making him turn his attention back to him.

“If they ever do anything to you again, come find me.”

It’s a promise he’s never made to anybody else, he’s always stayed out of what goes on in the camp. 

This time it  _ is  _ his magic that makes the air vibrate, a powerful angry buzzing that almost makes his ears hurt, and he’s never felt it embrace his anger like this before.

Even doesn’t pull away from that either, looks around inside the tent for a moment, before his eyes return to Isak, now wide and wondering, but not afraid. Not afraid.

And he nods.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come in this verse! Stay tuned, my friends. <3


	8. Interlude 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one had been a close call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who says that I can't post two interludes in a row? Not me, that's for sure. ;) 
> 
> So yeah, this is another glance into the first verse with wizard!Isak. Sweet Irazor betaed and made it better! :)
> 
> Enjoy!

When the buzzing in his head finally starts subsiding, he can barely breathe.

The stench of burned flesh and vegetation fills his nostrils, makes it hard for him not to cough and to give in to the urge to cover his nose and mouth.

Everything in him vibrates. He’s breathing hard, lungs too small in his chest, and it’s a struggle to regain control of himself, to pull the magic back in.

This one had been a close call.

They’d targeted him from the start, knew he was the one to go after. He’d had a nagging suspicion that the enemy knew there was a wizard in the fight by now, he just hadn’t realized it had come to this.

He keeps his eyes closed, keeps visualizing locking his magic back up, making it withdraw from his surrounding back into him, and he’s surprised by how far it’s stretched from him this time.

Surprised by his own power.

He never knew,  _ they  _ never knew. And he’s tried to keep it from them, but after this, he’s sure they’ll find out.

He takes another deep breath, tries to ignore how his lungs want to push it all back out, wants to empty the content of his stomach onto the burned ground underneath him. Now that the magic is starting to subside, he feels the heat under his feet, knows that the ground is smoking.

He finally opens his eyes.

And immediately wishes he hadn’t.

He looks at the horses and the men lying scattered on the ground before him, some burned worse than others, all dead.

Hordes and hordes of them.

His gaze lingers on each and every one of them, his mind screaming “I did this,  _ I did this _ .”

His magic feels wrong, like it’s too big for him now, like it can’t fit into his body anymore. His magic that’s normally so compliant, so gentle, so  _ safe _ , feels wild in a way it’s never been before. His hands are shaking and when he finally looks down at them he discovers it’s because they’re still glowing blue, still vibrating with energy.

He slowly turns around and, in a daze, he discovers that he’s being observed.

His own army, his allies, the ones that are supposed to have his back, are standing there, wide-eyed, mouths open. They’re scared. They’re scared of him.

He swallows hard and fights the tears threatening to break out.

It doesn’t matter how many men he’s killed, it’ll never matter. It’ll always feel wrong.

He takes a step forward, and then another, and then a third, forcing himself to move, just wanting to get to his tent, close the flap behind him and sleep the pain away, sleep all the unknown faces of the men he’s killed away from his mind.

Like that’ll ever happen.

Instead, he’ll spend all night tossing and turning, remembering how his magic had felt as he unleashed it, had set it free, despite the fact that he knows how destructive it can be.

Although he didn’t know it could do this.

The men part before him, give him plenty of room to walk between them, nobody wants to come within reach of him.

He hates it, he hates it so much. How his magic makes people scared of him, when in fact it should do the opposite.

His magic isn’t meant for killing, it never was. Every time he uses it for that purpose it gets a little bit more distorted, a little rougher around the edges with every life it,  _ he _ , extinguishes.

He keeps his head up, keeps his eyes set on an indistinct point in front of him. Won’t let them see how close he is to breaking down, how hard his entire body is shaking now.

If he can only get to his tent, only make it inside so that he’s alone. No one will follow him there, no one will bother him for the rest of the night.

He studiously ignores the  _ freak _ whispered at him from behind his back, even though it makes him fist his hands and makes the magic crackle all over again.

He just barely manages to keep it back, to not set it free again.

It wants to be.

He makes it inside, stands in the middle of the small space only lit by the blue glow emanating from his hands. He closes his eyes as he looks inside himself, escapes into his mind to try to find the root of his magic, to find the place it’s tied to him, so he can coax it back into compliance.

It’s fighting him this time. With every battle he’s been in, it takes him longer and longer to find the root, and when he does, longer and longer to make it calm down. To be happy fitting inside him, staying quiet.

He hates it, he hates this disconnection from it, how all this fighting and killing is changing its nature.

Makes it feel more and more foreign to him.

He hears a noise outside his tent, feet shuffling in front of the flap, and normally he would be so far inside his mind by now that he wouldn’t be able to hear it, but he’s so attuned to  _ him _ now that he’d recognize the noises he makes everywhere.

“What do you want?” Isak asks with a loud voice, much louder and deeper than it normally is, still tainted by magic.

He opens his eyes just as the flap opens and Even hesitantly puts his head through, eyes big like the rest of the men’s had been. 

“I wanted to see if you were alright.”

He enters fully, stands there so close to Isak and Isak can’t feel any fear from him, but he must be afraid. He must be.

Isak stays silent, scared of what kind of poisonous words that could fall from his lips if he tried to speak now.

“You don’t look alright,” Even whispers and nods towards Isak’s hands, and Isak lifts them to see the blue glow emanating from them, shifting the light and shadow on Even’s face as he does.

And then Even takes a step towards Isak, eliminates the small space between them, and reaches for Isak’s hands.

Isak pulls back without thinking about it, can’t imagine anybody wanting to touch him when he’s like this.

“I might hurt you,” he says, voice loud in the silence of the tent.

The camp is still quiet, everybody’s at the battlefield clearing the mess of dead bodies. Stripping the corpses of anything useful.

Even looks at him with those big blue eyes, bluer than ever in the glow of magic, as he takes Isak’s hands in both of his, covers them until the blue almost disappears and pulls them in until they rest against his chest.

“You could never hurt me,” he says in this low voice, more intimate than Isak has ever heard it.

And he can’t hold it back, not anymore, not when he’s met with this wall of kindness. Of acceptance.

He lets Even pull the rest of him into his arms, discovers how perfect it feels to be held by him, as the first tear falls from his eye.

He lets go, doesn’t even try to hold back anymore.

Lets Even carry him through the hurt and the sorrow of what he’s done.

With each tear that falls, he feels how the magic moves back into place, how it just retreats back to its root without a fight.

For the first time since he started fighting.

And he never wants to let go again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all having a great summer. :)


	9. Here he comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today’s the day. He’s not exactly sure what’s about to happen, he’s just certain that something will.
> 
> Today will change his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting this idea gave me an excuse to take a break from writing the last chapter of AA, I hope you guys don't mind too much. xD
> 
> Irazor betaed this and did a wonderful job as usual. <3
> 
> Aaaaaaand, well, enjoy. :)

Even wakes with a start.

There’s a buzzing under his skin, a restlessness in his bones, that he’s never felt before.

But that he recognizes nonetheless.

It doesn’t matter how much he normally whines and moans about having to get out of bed, doesn’t matter how it usually takes him forever and at least one cup of coffee to feel alive in the morning. This morning he practically jumps out of bed, showers quickly, gets dressed even faster, and by the time he enters the kitchen to grab some food and coffee before he leaves his mother looks at him with wide eyes and a genuinely surprised look on her face.

“Good morning,” he says, so much energy and excitement inside him that he stays standing as he starts eating. She mutters a  _ good morning  _ back, but her eyes stay on him.

Today’s the day. He’s not exactly sure what’s about to happen, he’s just certain that something will.

And the longer he’s awake, the more that feeling solidifies in him, this knowledge that today will change his life. That he’s been waiting for it.

“Should I be worried?” his mother asks.

He smiles at her. Not even her worrying can ruin his good mood.

“Something good is going to happen today,” he says instead of answering.

She must see something in him, because she smiles back, a real smile, and returns to her breakfast and her newspaper.

Even eats fast, needs to get out, needs to let it happen. It. Whatever it is.

He can’t wait to find out.

\--||--

He takes the tram to uni, as he normally does. Is on his way to his normal seat in the lecture hall, has just set his bag down when he changes his mind and finds another seat a few rows down.

When the class is over he doesn’t linger like he normally does, just packs up his stuff and shoots out of there, almost runs to his next class.

He does whatever feels right, lets his instincts lead him, sure that whatever is going to happen will happen soon.

If he lets it.

\--||--

It’s impossible to concentrate.

He spends the entire next class drawing in his notebook, not paying attention to the professor at all.

He doesn’t think as he’s drawing, he just does. A hand, an eye, a messy curl, the side of a smile that stretches into a dimple.

He doesn’t know who he’s drawing, sure that he’s never seen this person before. But he can’t stop, just keeps going, fills up page after page of details of this unknown person.

And the unrest inside of him grows, the buzzing under his skin gets louder and louder, harder to ignore.

But with it, there’s this sense that what he’s doing is right. That he’s supposed to be here, that if he just hangs on, it will happen.

It.

He still doesn’t know what, but looking at those drawings he begins to have an idea.

It feels like he knows this person, like he’s touched his skin a million times and tasted the smile on his lips. He doesn’t know who it is but he knows that his hair is blond, that his eyes are green.

He doesn’t know how he knows, he just does. Like it’s ingrained in him, a knowledge that’s always been there waiting for him to find a use for it. Waiting for the right time to reveal itself.

When the class ends he has no clue what has happened, what topic the professor was even covering. He reluctantly closes his notebook, just wants to keep looking, keep drawing, his fingers itching to get the images down on paper.

But he somehow manages to, puts everything in his bag like he normally would and is the last to leave the hall.

\--||--

He doesn’t even go to the next class, just decides to give in to the urge he’s feeling. To do something else.

He walks from the university in a daze, no clear target in sight. Just this overwhelming need to be somewhere else.

He huddles in his jacket, pulls the hood up over his beanie to fend off the cold. The weather isn’t perfect for this, it’s windy, misty, gray. He hates this season, doesn’t like that this is how he meets him.

Gets a hazy image of him lying on a beach in swim trunks, smiling up at him, reaching for him. He still can’t see him clearly, can’t see his face properly. It’s still just these details; a freckle on his shoulder, water dripping from his hair, eyelashes clumped together with ocean water.

Even may not be able to see him properly, but he knows that he’s beautiful. By far the prettiest person he’s ever seen. His smile takes his breath away, makes him long and yearn, makes him miss him desperately.

He doesn’t know him, but he longs for him with every fiber of his being.

When the cold gets too much, when the tips of his fingers are starting to feel numb, he finds a small café where he can warm himself up.

He’s not sure what time it is, how long he’s been wandering the streets. Truth be told, he’s not even sure where he is exactly.

When Even enters he pulls down the hood and takes off his beanie. Runs his hand through his hair to try to salvage it, even though he knows it’ll look flat and impossible after being crushed by a hat for that long.

He orders a cup of coffee and looks around to find an empty seat.

Most tables are busy even though there isn’t a lot of people in the café. Everybody’s busy, talking, reading, working on their computer, most tables only filled with single patrons.

Instead of invading one of those mostly empty tables he sits by the window, on a high chair looking out into the street.

He wraps his hands around the cup and puts it to his lip, not drinking from it, just trying to get as much warmth out of it as possible. He looks out the window as he does.

It’s already getting dark out, people rushing by the window, eager to get out of the cold.

His eyes follow them distractedly as they pass, notices the color of their hats, or the lack of scarfs, or the bags in their hands.

All details, like it’s impossible for him to notice anything else at this point.

\--||--

His coffee is almost finished when something other than a detail catches his eye.

It almost feels like one of those moments in a movie, like everything slows down and all he sees is  _ him _ as he passes by the window.

He’s wearing a blue beanie, a red, big scarf curled around his neck, covering his face to the point where it’s almost difficult to see it.

But Even sees.

He sees the blond curls sticking out of the bottom of the beanie, he sees that nose, those impossibly long eyelashes.

He sees and everything in him stops, he stops breathing, stops blinking, stops functioning. There is only  _ him _ , only this moment as he passes by the window of the café, just walking by, letting Even soak up everything about him. How tall he is, how shapely his legs are, his gait. The fact that his eyes are really green.

And then he’s gone.

Out of sight, past the window, like he didn’t just turn Even’s life upside down.

Even is out of breath, elated and hollow at the same time. He’s out there, he’s really out there, he’s not a figment of his overactive mind. 

But he clearly didn’t know that Even was right there.

Even looks down at his hands, forces himself to unclench them from the hard fists they’ve managed to become. And when they unfold he notices how hard they’re shaking. How shallowly he’s breathing.

His whole world just stopped, he knows that this boy, this man, will change his life.

But apparently,  _ he  _ hasn’t come to the same realization.

He can’t go after him if he’s the only one who knows, if he hasn’t realized yet. And Even’s stuck to the chair, can’t get his body to work, even if he wanted to.

Even focuses on his inhale, counts as he exhales, tries to get his body under control. His mind is whirling, thoughts flying so fast that he doesn’t have time to think one through before the next is introduced. He’s all over the place, all the calmness from before gone with that small glimpse of his future.

He knows that he’s his future, feels the truth of it in every part of his body. He’s supposed to love him.

Like he’s done before.

Even doesn’t believe in fate, but this feels inevitable.

He focuses harder on his breathing, lets the mess of his mind fall away as he counts to four as he inhales, holds his breath counting to seven and just as he’s about to exhale a rough knock on the window in front of him startles him enough that he almost chokes on it.

He looks up, eyes wide with surprise, body stiff, but what he sees there leaves him feeling more relaxed than any breathing exercise will ever be able to.

It’s him. Standing on the other side. Scarf pushed down to reveal that mouth, those gapped teeth as a smile grows on his face. His green eyes shining with something that Even doesn’t quite recognize yet, but knows he will soon.

So Even smiles back. 

 

 

 


	10. Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a grey day today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea just wanted to be written and who am I to hold it back? So here you go, I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Betaed by Irazor, who as always made this worth reading. <3

It’s a grey day today.

He hates days like these.

He kind of expected it to come, though. He hasn’t been sleeping well these last days – his mind’s been whirling with too many thoughts and it’s getting impossible for him to relax. He looks at himself in the mirror and knows that it’s showing, but he can’t help it.

It’s always like this when…

No, he can’t say that, can’t even think it to himself. He needs to be able to do this. It’s only a few days, they should be able to do this.

But now his mother has been added to the mix. And maybe it shouldn’t change things, but it does.

He gets out of bed, feels a million years old with how heavy his feet are dragging across the floor. With how heavy his entire body feels.

It’s always like this the morning after. When he’s been tossing and turning all night, like every movement he makes awake in that bed adds weight to his limbs. He knows it’s not true, that it can’t be true, but it certainly feels true.

And it’s always harder to think logically when his mind is fogged by the grey.

His phone dings and he just looks at it. He should check it. It might not even be her.

But it could be.

He can’t stand it right now, suspects just one more message like that would be enough to break him right now.

So he ignores it, goes to the kitchen, gets the coffee maker going, and then shuffles to the bathroom.

He hopes a shower will do the trick, will be enough to wake him up. He knows it won’t, but there’s always hope.

He takes his time, enjoys the endless hot water supply that comes with living in an apartment. Lets himself soak in it for a while, water pummeling his hair and shoulders, running down his face and his body, almost encasing him. Right this second there’s nothing else, just him. He can almost convince himself that the world is empty, if it wasn’t for him. Just the sound of water running and his mind slowing down.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, maybe he even falls asleep on his feet a little, but it’s definitely long enough for the bathroom to be fogged over and for him to feel guilty about using that much hot water.

He dresses slowly, almost feels too weak to put his arms through the sleeves of the shirt, his legs in his pants, but he manages.

Next step is the coffee in the kitchen, luring him with its deep, roasted aroma that’s filling the entire apartment. He would probably just sit here on the bed for a good while if it wasn’t for that. Something hot seems like just the thing right now.

And for the first time in a few days he actually feels a need for something, wants something more than just to sleep.

He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t want to know just how long he has before this will be over, before he doesn’t have to wait anymore.

He pours himself a cup and then sits down heavily at the tiny kitchen table.

As he takes the first sip, he looks out the window, notices the light and the clouds moving in the sky. It’s lighter than he thought it would be. Maybe it’s not quite as early as he thinks it is.

Behind him, in the bedroom, he hears his phone go off again, once, twice, a few long seconds of blessed silence, and then once more.

He sighs, feels so exhausted by everything. Knows he should get up and clean, do the dishes and the laundry. Tidy the place up.

He just doesn’t have any energy for it. 

He doesn’t want this to be what he comes home to, not after being apart. It didn’t even sound like a hassle, just a trip with work, only a week, no problem.

No problem.

There’s this space inside of him, bigger now than it normally is, that tells him that he’s not really worth coming home to. That he’s too much trouble, too much work and fuss.

It’s only been a week. He shouldn’t feel so grey after just a week.

But it’s not really his fault. It just seems like everything collapsed this week, like however hard he tried he wasn’t enough. Constantly falling behind, his efforts lacking.

He misses him. But he really doesn’t want him to come home.

Not to him. Not to this.

He should pull himself together, get up, make it right. Do something. Anything.

Instead he takes another sip of coffee.

His mind feels foreign, he almost can’t recognize it. It’s been a while since it’s been this bad, since he felt like he couldn’t live in it.

He breathes; inhales, exhales, counts, counts, counts, the old habit finding its way back easily, like it’s still something he needs to do regularly.

Maybe he should tell him. Maybe he should give him some sort of warning, let him know that it’s bad, that maybe he should find somewhere else to stay for a couple of days when he gets home.

He doesn’t want to feel like a burden.

But before he can do anything he can hear keys in the lock, and then the door opens.

He turns in his chair, looks and looks and looks, but doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to.  _ He  _ fills the apartment with familiar sounds.

“Hi, baby,” he says and puts down his bags, starts taking off his coat and shoes. His eyes are bright and he looks so alive, so full of colors, that it almost hurts to look at him. But he can’t look away.

“I’m so glad to be home, you wouldn’t believe how much traffic there was on the way, I thought I was never going to get here…” he continues as he hangs up his coat, puts his beanie on top of all the others, picks up his bag to put it into the bedroom.

It’s not until he gets there that he stops chattering.

“Baby?” he asks.

And then he joins him in the kitchen.

Crouches next to him, one arm on the back of the chair, one on the table, encasing him but not in a way that’s too close, too much. Too soon.

“Look at you,” he says, voice low and soft, so tender. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

It feels foolish now, now that he’s asking like that, now that he’s so close.

Isak shrugs.

“I didn’t know how to.”

“Isak,” Even smiles, leans closer. “You just do it. You know that. It’s just me.”

There’s silence for a few long seconds. Isak looks at him, takes him in, feels the change he’s brought to the apartment by simply being here.

“Yeah. Just you.”

He doesn’t quite recognize his own voice, but Even leans in to kiss him, soft, lingering, familiar. Isak lets that scent of his fill his nostrils, lets the heat of his body bleed into his own, and for the first time in days he wants to move.

He puts his arms around Even, pulls him in tight, melts against him until there’s nothing else but them.

This. This is right.

He reluctantly lets Even go, watches him tidy up the mess in a daze, soaks up every smile and every glance along the way, watches Even look inside the fridge and start to make a list for grocery shopping. Feels more than a little grateful that Even doesn’t say anything about it, just does it.

And when he disappears into the bedroom and comes back carrying Isak’s phone, he just says, “Let’s do this together.”

Sits down next to Isak and waits for him to make the first move.

He’s not sure how many messages she’s sent him, he couldn’t get himself to check. But somehow, it’s more manageable with Even, not quite so scary.

So he picks up the phone, takes a deep breath, looks at Even and says, “Together.”

The way Even smiles at him makes him feel things again. In a way he hasn’t these last few days.

And that’s what he does, Isak thinks. That’s one of the things that keeps amazing him over and over again about Even. How easy it is for Even to make Isak feel settled and at home.

Today might be a grey day.

But tomorrow won’t be.

 

 

 


	11. Interlude 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s looking at Even. At the wonder on his face, at how wide and happy his eyes are. The big smile stretching his face.
> 
> He’s so beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Irazor for betaing this little interlude. Enjoy, my friends. :)

There are so many things that Isak could be focusing on. He could be focusing on the endless fields of flowers, on the clear, blue sky, on the sun beating down on them. How everything is bright, warm, saturated with color. 

But he’s not.

He’s looking at Even. At the wonder on his face, at how wide and happy his eyes are. The big smile stretching his face.

He’s so beautiful.

Isak doesn’t look away as a tree sprouts next to them, trunk strong and big, branches growing and widening, leaves following close behind. But he catalogues the surprised, giddy laugh Even omits.

It makes him want to keep going, makes him want to do more to see if that smile will stretch further. If, possibly, he can make Even laugh again.

It’s not a sound he’s used to.

Not yet, at least. He hopes he will be at some point.

In a blink of an eye all the flowers in the field change into red poppies, so much red that it’s almost blinding.

And Even laughs again, delightedly, carelessly. His entire body convulsing and contorting with it.

It’s setting Isak on fire, makes hope and desire and affection spread in his chest. He almost doesn’t recognise these feelings, almost doesn’t know what it’s like to feel anything but misery and pain anymore. Almost doesn’t think there’s room in him for so many emotions all at once.

But it feels right.

Lying here with Even like this - it’s right. 

Even turns his face and looks at him, his eyes once again widening. This time, however, they look surprised, before they soften as Even takes him in. Even turns his body as well, lies on his side and looks at Isak. The grass is surrounding them both, as they lie in the only place the flowers aren’t growing, making them feel cocooned. Safe.

Like nothing can touch them here.

Like there’s only them in the world, alone but not lonely.

Together.

Even puts his hand on Isak’s cheek, thumb gently following the line of his cheek bone. And there’s something about the way Even looks at him, something behind it that makes Isak choke up and makes his heart feel too large for his chest.

But he waits.

Lets Even decide. Lets him set the pace. Isak already knows how well they’ll work together, how perfectly they would fit. He  _ knows  _ it. Feels it in how his magic sings in his veins whenever Even is near.

Even glances down at Isak’s lips, licks his own, briefly, the tip barely visible, another glance, and then he leans in.

It’s slow, like tides could rise and fall, like seasons could change before Even is close enough for Isak to feel his breath wash over his face. And this feels just right too.

Then there are lips on his, soft, a mere whisper of a touch. Before Even exhales and leans in further, presses a bit harder against Isak.

Isak’s magic swirls around them, warms them up, sings louder than ever.

And when Even pulls back to look at Isak, like he’s asking permission, like he’s wondering if what he did was something that Isak would want as well, all Isak sees is the blue of Even’s eyes, and the blue they’re bathed in.

They’re surrounded by it, his magic coloring them, changing the setting around them. He’s not losing control, just letting it roam free. 

His body is buzzing, happiness soaring through him, a dual sensation from the pleasant hum of his magic being let out and the way his heart settles into a new way of beating. 

How the air around him shivers with Even, Even,  _ Even _ . 

There is only them, they are safe here.

Being here like this makes it easy to forget what’s on the other side of the shelter of his tent, makes it easy to forget what he’s done. What they’ve done.

And then Even leans in again, more eager this time, presses even harder.

So Isak closes his eyes. And lets himself forget.

\--||--

A week later Even is standing outside his tent.

Isak is just returning from the surrounding forest when he sees Even from a distance. He pauses, takes him in. Sees how he’s carrying his bedroll and a sack of something Isak suspects is his belongings.

He looks defeated. Nervous.

He’s looking the other way, clearly hasn’t noticed Isak yet. Shuffles his feet, like he doesn’t want to be out in the open, but doesn’t feel comfortable being alone in Isak’s tent either.

Isak wants him to be. Wants him to be comfortable with everything that is Isak.

He watches how the other men give Even a wide berth, throw him disgusted glances, how a couple even spits in his direction.

Isak’s used to it by now. But he hates that Even’s being subjected to it too.

Because of him.

He hurries to Even, wants him inside, wants him safe.

Wants to be alone with him.

“What’s this?” he asks when he’s close enough for Even to see him, smiles when Even turns, fast enough to almost lose his footing.

Even smiles at him, but it’s small, timid. And it’s that more than anything else that makes Isak nervous.

“I’m--” Even starts, but then stops. He looks away from Isak, takes a long pause and Isak lets him. “They want me to share your tent.”

Isak takes a step closer, happiness bubbling inside of him. He doesn’t fight the smile slowly spreading on his face, lets Even see how even the thought of sharing with him makes him feel.

“Everything that’s mine is yours.”

He watches Even swallow hard, hears the click of his throat, watches as Even’s eyes flit between his, like he doesn’t understand what he’s hearing.

“Do you not want to?” Isak asks when the pause grows too long.

He’ll move heaven and earth to make sure Even doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to. He’ll find a way to make it happen.

But he’s barely said the words before Even nods, words tumbling out of his mouth, “I want to. I really do. I’m just not sure whether.. you want to?”

Isak can’t stay away anymore, can’t. Everything in him needs to get closer, needs to touch, needs to take away Even’s insecurities.

“Silly boy,” he whispers when his forehead is resting against Even’s. “There’s nothing I want more.”

Even exhales roughly against him, like he’s expelling his nerves. So Isak puts his arms around Even, pulls him in tighter, doesn’t care that everyone can see them.

He’s pretty sure they all already know anyway.

“Come inside,” he whispers. 

He holds the flap open as Even enters, and for the first time, the tent feels like a home.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you've noticed that I've set the chapter count to 12 now. That means there's only one chapter left of this fic. It'll be out next week. :)
> 
> I wish you all a Merry Christmas. <3


	12. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think the war will ever end?” Even asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! omg! :O
> 
> This last chapter is about first-verse Isak and Even. I wanted to give them a proper send-off. 
> 
> A massive thank you to Irazor for betaing, this and all the other chapters. You've made this so much easier to read, babe. <3
> 
> Enjoy, my friends.

There’s thunder crashing in the dark, rolling in the distance. Almost muted against the backdrop of what’s going on inside the tent.

Isak’s still awake, still too alert to be able to sleep.

He’s looking at Even, watching the way his eyelids flutter as he dreams, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. It should be soothing. But there’s a scab on Even’s forehead that Isak’s eyes keep finding, keep going back to. 

Even was hurt.

It’s not a big wound, had stopped bleeding soon enough. But finding Even after the battle with blood all over his cheek, carelessly wiped off his brow, giving him a wild and rugged look, unsettled something inside Isak.

Made him realize that what they have together is only temporary. 

Especially doing what they’re doing, going through battle after battle, feeling like the war will never end.

It makes him fiercely protective, his magic coiling inside of him, tense, like a lion ready to pounce. He fights it, pulls it back as much as he can, because he knows that others saw that wound. Will look for it in the morning. 

Will use it as an excuse.

Isak can’t let them. He can’t be apart from Even. He knows how much is at stake for the both of them, and he knows how close they’ve come in the past to being separated. He knows they’re just looking for a reason.

Isak and Even are too well matched. 

They’re afraid of the power Even holds over him, afraid of what Even would do with it if they relaxed the iron-tight control they have on the both of them.

Except Isak knows that Even would never misuse it, would never make Isak do anything he doesn’t want to do.

Unlike them.

His magic is so much easier to handle now than before Even moved into his tent. Even always knows what to do, what to say, to make it manageable for Isak. 

It purrs under Even’s touch, sated,  _ happy _ , and if it wasn’t an extension of Isak, he would feel jealous of it. Jealous of the way it’s affected by him, of the way Even’s affected by it.

He knows that Even sees it as an extension of Isak, as a part of him, and that part of his enjoyment stems from that.

He knows that Even’s not scared of him.

Even’s breath catches, his body shifts, moves closer to Isak in his sleep and Isak fills with a warm fondness watching it happen.

It’s been months now. He doesn’t know exactly how long, he doesn’t want to keep count. Doesn’t want to think about time and make it even more obvious that there’s a limitation to their love. But it doesn’t matter how many times he gets to lie here watching Even sleep. He’ll never get enough of it.

And just like that Even slips from slumber, opens his eyes tiredly and looks straight at Isak.

He hums when he sees that Isak’s awake, and Isak moves closer to him, tries to comfort him with his presence.

“Why are you up?” Even asks, voice rough with sleep. He’s so vulnerable like this, so human and mortal that Isak’s chest swells and his throat itches.

He doesn’t answer.

Even grows more awake for each passing second and Isak wishes he could make him fall back asleep so he didn’t have to worry about him.

But he knows it doesn’t work like that.

“Do you think the war will ever end?” Even asks, instead of focusing on Isak’s insomnia. 

Isak wants to say yes, knows that Even dreams of a time when they can live in peace. Has heard him talk about what kind of house they’re supposed to have, how many fields they can manage between them.

Isak has been at war for so long that he’s not sure if that kind of life will ever be for him. But he doesn’t tell Even that, lets him dream, lets him have his hopes.

“Tell me about the trees in the garden,” he says instead of answering Even’s question.

It has the desired effect as it makes the frown on Even’s forehead lessen and his mouth start to stretch into a smile. Like Isak knew it would. 

“There are three -- no, four -- trees. We have to have an apple tree as well. I make a great apple pie.” 

His eyes are bright, even in the dark. His voice, as he continues, chases the low, distant rumble of thunder away.

Isak settles in to listen to the tales of their future together. Somehow it feels a bit more real every time Even talks about it. Makes it easier to ignore that unsettled feeling in his stomach and his heart.

It’s almost enough to convince himself that it’ll happen. That they really do have a future together, and that he’s going to spend it in a small house with Even. Thinking about mundane things, like when to harvest or what to eat for dinner.

The magic slowly uncoils inside him with the tales Even tells, with the soothing sound of his voice. He can feel it surrendering, tension bleeding out until it’s buttersoft in his core.

If only there was a way to make Even’s dreams turn into reality.

There’s nothing he wants more than to be able to wake up next to Even every day. 

If only his magic worked like that. He’s spent so many nights worrying, wondering what he can do to make it so. 

He hasn’t come any closer to a solution.

He stays awake, fights the way sleep creeps closer and closer and closer, wants to listen to the timber of Even’s voice forever, wants to live in the fantasy with him. Even talks and talks, tells him about the types of crops they’ll grow, the creek they’ll have out back that’ll be cold enough for them to cool things in it. How Isak’s magic will heal the earth and help the crops grow.

No other kind of life sounds as magical as this.

Isak knows he has to find a way. Because he knows that he’ll never have enough of this, of Even. And he can feel it in his magic too, how it’s grasping, reaching, wants to help him.

And for the first time, he lets himself be seduced by it. 

He falls asleep with his magic singing in his veins, like an ally. Lets the words bleed over into his dreams, repeating them over and over until he’s sure he must be saying them out loud in his sleep. Until it feels like he doesn’t have to worry about them being over ever again. Almost like he’s reached some far part of the universe in his sleep that exists to make those kinds of wishes come true.

The words are reverberating through him even when he wakes up. When he opens his eyes and finds Even’s looking right back at him. He needs this to last, desperately hopes it can be true, hopes the words echoing in his mind will become real.

Not the end.

Not the end.

_ Not the end. _

  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've loved writing this fic so much, I've loved exploring so many ways of them finding each other and delving into the first verse a bit further. Thank you to all of you who have joined me on this journey, to every last one of you reading, commenting and kudosing, you guys are so awesome I don't even have words for it. <3 <3 <3 
> 
> Just. Thank you. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this one! If you did, please don’t hesitate to let me know in the form of kudos and/or comments. You all know how happy they make me. :D :D
> 
> I am [nofeartina](https://nofeartina.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come play. :)


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